Fate Untold
by SnowFairyx784
Summary: A 3-part series showcasing the lives of some of the characters in ToG- and the stories that were never told. The world would bow to them someday. It was just a matter of time. Done for the ToG Mini-bang on Tumblr in collaboration with aelinqueen who made beautiful edits for my story :)
1. Beautiful Vengeance

I wrote these pieces for the ToG Mini Bang on Tumblr and am quite happy with how it turned out. This is the first part of three, focusing on Lysandra and giving a little insight into the life that we never saw. You can also find this story on AO3 and Tumblr Snowfairyx784. My post on Tumblr also has a link to the amazing edits that my mini-bang partner aelinqueen did :D. You should go check them out, they're super pretty :)

* * *

Lysandra was born on a stormy summer night, one that brought relief to some, and destruction to many. The day after she was born, many people had lost their homes. The crops that withered in the heat relished in the cool rain, but the storm had destroyed more that it had healed. That was what she was. A curse. Her father had left before she was born and her mother had thrown herself at alcohol. She was stuck with a power that she had never desired. One that was so despised that when her mother had seen her daughter transform, she'd thrown her out onto the streets. Lysandra still remembered the exchange, no matter how much she wanted to forget.

The streets of Adarlan were dirty and cluttered. The ones you didn't see, at least. It was a sharp contrast from the pristine and lavish streets in the city centre, overshadowed by the grand palace made of glass. Nothing was finer.

Lots of civilians and foreign travellers tended to avoid the slums. It was unpleasing to look at and riddled with disease. It wasn't uncommon for those living on the streets to die, and Lysandra saw death almost everyday. Fresh corpses of those who died within in the cold of the night littered some parts of the city. Those were usually moved and dumped somewhere once they were discovered.

Sometimes, a Fae healer would walk through the streets and bring relief to those who needed it. They treated those who were sick and brought some food for the hungry. But that never really happened, no, not that often. Many forgot about the slums, and ignored the presence of the underground society. Lysandra couldn't blame them; many bad things happened in the underground. Sometimes Lysandra would wander the tunnels at night. Sometimes she could hear the quiet chatter of noblemen doing business with those of the underground black market, or sometimes even one of the Assassin's Guild. It was a cruel place to be, so Lysandra spent most of her time on the richer streets as a peddler, wearing a mask of false beauty.

She was ignored by many today. Not one person would stop by and help the girl who asked for just one penny. Lysandra swallowed as she watched a lady walk past her, eyeing her with a combination of superiority and something else she couldn't quite make out. Even when she was trapped in a face like this, no one would stop for her. They would stare, some with annoyance, some with disdain, and some with an expression Lysandra couldn't understand. But still, they stared. It was something she'd gotten used to by now.

By evening Lysandra had long given up on getting money or anything today. She sat on the floor with her back against a stone wall, arms wrapped around her legs. Lysandra squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled slowly, as it her breathe was a treasure. She would not eat again tonight. She had already not eaten in three days and at this rate she would starve to death. If she had still had her powers maybe she could've snuck into a bakery and stolen some cheese. But she didn't have even that now. Lysandra sat there for a while, trying to block out her hunger as she rubbed her cold arms in an attempt to warm herself up. That was when she heard the sound of footsteps as someone approached her. Lysandra opened her eyes to see a gown made of light purple silk, embroidered with silver thread and laced with pearls and diamonds. Her eyes trailed upwards and standing before her was the same woman who had passed by her earlier with the unreadable expression. The woman smiled in a way that didn't quite reach her eyes, serene yet cold.

"Hello, child," the woman purred, tilting her head just a tiny bit. "My name is Clarisse."

* * *

"Tilt your head more!" The her instructor sharply barked at her. Lysandra's cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling and gods, she hated this. "Good, now walk forwards gracefully- GRACEFULLY LYSANDRA, NOT LIKE A SAVAGE!"

Lysandra cringed inwardly. The 13 year-old struggled not to scream at her godsawful instructor, a tall brunette with such a sharp nose that you could cut fabric with it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her instructor, whose name was something like Silvia or Silvetta or something like that, sneer and prance forwards like some kind of dolphin but Lysandra didn't dare to turn her head around in fear of more criticism. Silvia forcefully pushed her shoulders even more back than they were before, then pushed her stomach in so that she had "perfect posture".

"Smile", Silvia ordered. "NO, NOT LIKE THAT. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU SWALLOWED POISON. Smile like this," Silvia said as she walked in front of Lysandra and proceeded to smile like some kind of dying clown. It took all the effort that Lysandra could muster up to smother her laughter and maintain her composure.

"Your turn," Silvia said. So Lysandra smiled the biggest and fakest smile that she could possibly smile, earning her a slap from her ill-tempered instructor.

"Stupid girl," Silvia sneered. "Can't do anything right."

"Sorry," Lysandra muttered, averting her eyes.

"You will address me properly!"

"Sorry, Madame," Lysandra said loudly.

"DO I LOOK LIKE A MADAME TO YOU?!" The woman screeched and Lysandra couldn't help but flinch, earning her another slap from the instructor.

"That's enough, Silicia," Madame Clarisse's voice called out from the doorway. Her stern eyes set their sights on Lysandra.

"Lysandra has a visitor. Come with me." And with that, Clarisse turned and left. Lysandra quickly followed, careful not to meet her instructor's eyes.

Thank the gods that was over.

* * *

This was somewhat better than her lessons, but at the same time, so much worse. She was at tea with Clarisse, Arobynn Hamel, and his infuriatingly annoying protégée Celaena Sardothien. Few things were worse than having to spend time with _her._ Lysandra didn't really hate her, but Celaena _definitely_ despised her. She would smile those sugary sweet smiles that Lysandra returned, but as soon as she was sure that no one was looking, Celaena would glare daggers at her. At first it had been uncomfortable but eventually the only thing that Lysandra was able to do was smile sweetly in response. It made Celaena even madder and part of Lysandra relished in the small victory. It was no secret that Celaena could kill her within seconds if she was allowed to, which was a good thing since she wasn't allowed to. They could've been great friends. Lysandra secretly admired the fierceness and power that she had. It was a shame, really. After all, they were just monsters in human skins…

No, she wasn't a monster. They weren't just monsters. They were demons who would change the world one day. She knew it.

* * *

Honestly, if she hadn't been so arrogant and condescending, Celaena Sardothien wouldn't make such a bad friend. Granted, she was a total bitch 99% of the time, but Lysandra didn't despise her as much as you would think. Rather, she had everything that Lysandra had wanted. She was so damn privileged, and sometimes Lysandra just wanted to change into a tiger and claw those annoyingly pretty eyes out of their sockets.

Wouldn't that be a sight to see. But then again, the insufferable brat would be blind and therefore unable to see her own death. A scowl graced the delicate features of her face. Lysandra grabbed a brush and ran it through her silky hair before pinning it up with pins crafted from silver and pearls. She smiled a falsely sweet smile, posing in front of her vanity. Her reflection gazed back at her, disgustingly beautiful. How she wished she could make it go away. Her green eyes trailed down to her chest and her (unfortunately) large breasts. If magic was here, she could make it go away.

If magic was here she wouldn't be here at all. Perhaps she would still be living on the streets or already dead from starvation. Perhaps Arobynn would've found her and trained her to become an assassin, instead of being taken to Clarisse and being trained to be a courtesan. A whore.

It wasn't so bad, she tried to tell herself. She was spoiled by her benefactors and became one of Clarisse's most prized girls to date. What was worse? Dying of starvation or becoming a prostitute? Neither choice was satisfying, but Lysandra found herself being glad that she was alive and in the position that she was in.

She was going to be sold off, yes. But she had overheard Clarisse the other day mentioning that she could possibly be sold to the benefactor that had supported her for 7 years. And that was just going to be the beginning. Lysandra stared at herself in the mirror.

 _What a pretty lie_ , she thought to herself. The mirrors, they show you what you want to see, they whisper things in your ears and coax you into submission. Lysandra could not remember what she used to look like. The mirrors told her that she was beautiful, but she was so ugly. Ugly on the inside. She'd accepted it by now, the false image in front of her. Her heart beat to its own drum now.

* * *

It was cold outside.

She was cold. Everything was cold and she was broken and dead and gone.

Wesley. Wesley was gone. My Wesley.

Sam. Sam was gone. My Sam.

It was all Celaena's fault. Or was it her fault? Her fault that she couldn't do anything, that she didn't do anything, that she wasn't able to do anything.

No.

It was his fault. Red hair, grey eyes, hard hands, red lines.

No more tears to cry. No more. Her gaze hardened. Plans. Lots of plans to make.

He'd taken so much away from her. Her soul was gone. No more games.

Half of her time was spent seething, the other time crying. Screaming, tearing at her bedsheets and wondering why this had to happen. Her strangled moans turned into laughter and then again turned to sorrow. Someone was going to pay.

The demon inside of her awakened. It bellowed in rage. It roared for vengeance and for blood. And blood it would have.

* * *

Something was coming. She could feel it. Maybe it wouldn't happen now, or in a few months, or even in years. But it was coming. The tingle ran down her spine and her blood coursed through her veins. Magic was gone, but somehow it was still there. It had always been there, waiting and waiting for something to happen.

 _Soon,_ she promised herself. _Soon._

* * *

The soldier in front of her screamed as her teeth tore through his flesh and turned it into ribbons. She turned and pounced onto the next person that she saw, their fear reflecting in her eyes as they too turned into a pile of ribbons.

Oh, how she'd dreamed of this moment for so long. It was here and it was so, so, _so_ , much better than she'd imagined. Civilians and merchants alike jumped away from her as Lysandra let out a feral roar. She could feel the pulse in the air, the tingle in her spine. The wild was calling to her. Lysandra could smell fear mixed with blood, the sour smell of vomit and piss, the smell of the dirt on the ground and underneath it all, _magic._ Leaping forward, Lysandra charged through the streets, heading straight for the glass palace and tearing through anything in her way. People screamed at the sight of blood and guts and the ghost leopard running rampant.

As she slowed down to pass through a slightly narrower passageway, her eye caught a small shelter leaning on a wall, and her gaze narrowed at the small girl who watched her from inside of it. You couldn't really call it a shelter, let alone a home. The girl lived in a cardboard box turned upside down that was propped up by a stick. a flimsy piece of cloth served as a sheet on the cold, hard ground. Had it really been 10 years?

A surge of anger overcame Lysandra as she recalled her days as a beggar living on the streets, a child forced to grow up, to fend for herself. Growling, Lysandra forced herself to turn away from the terrified girl. Onwards, to the glass palace and the king who was to die for his sins. Perhaps one day there would be no more girls forced to live on the streets, no more poor people who couldn't afford to take care of their children. Maybe Aelin could help change that. Maybe she could too. Lysandra wasn't a queen but that didn't mean she couldn't do just as well. Hell, she'd probably do even better. After all, she was Lysandra; a shape shifting seductress who wasn't afraid to do things her way. And her way involved lots of sharp teeth, wicked claws, and lots and lots of fun.

Letting out a huff, Lysandra began to sprint towards the castle again, and this time more determined than she was before. Gods help anyone who tried to stop her.

* * *

You go get em' girl! Had lots of fun writing this.

Part 2: Red As Blood, Fire Like Ice, Stone Like Steel

(P.S. 20 points for the Bayonetta reference ;)


	2. Blood Red, Icy Fire, Steel Stone

2/3- The Thirteen

Check out aelinqueen's blog ( doraelin .co .vu) on Tumblr for amazing edits/photosets for the story ^_^

* * *

 _The Hunt_

The wind blew harshly through the narrow mountain pass, sending chills down Manon's spine. Her silver white hair was pulled back into a loose braid and it whipped around in the air, almost blending in with the pale blizzard that raged ferociously. Manon's face was beginning to sting, her ears frozen and her lips dry. But she did not move. Not yet. Manon had been tracking the Crochan witch through Rosamel for days, hiding in the shadows. And here they were.

Manon Blackbeak leaned against the side of the mountain even harder, willing herself to lie flat. A novice's tactic, but at least it worked. Manon couldn't lie; this was nothing like training. Less exciting, but more exciting at the same time. The wind roared around her once again, as if cheering her on. Oh three-faced goddess, guide my way.

Manon's heartbeat quickened against her will. She willed herself to stay calm, to keep her composure until it was done. It wasn't working very well. The Crochan bitch's red cloak flapped in the wind like a flag bathed in fresh blood. The same cloak that was given to every Crochan upon their first bleeding, a gift to celebrate the transition into womanhood. But all it did now was mark them as prey. It was no longer a gift. It was a death sentence.

The Crochan pulled the cloak around her tighter in an attempt to keep warm as the unforgiving winter left its mark on the Staghorn mountains. She was barely sixteen, the same age as Manon, and undeservingly beautiful. Dark hair, pale skin, eyes green like a summer meadow. It was sickening.

Manon unsheathed her claws and moved forward, silent as night itself. Her own eyes, pools of melting gold, followed the Crochan almost obsessively, never lifting off of her. A fool's mistake, her grandmother would sneer. She might as well walk off a cliff with that sort of awareness of her surroundings. But in the moment Manon could care less about what her grandmother thought. She moved forward almost hypnotically, so slowly that it was almost painful. The roaring winds covered up Manon's harsh, excited breaths. Her cheeks burned in the cold, but she payed no attention. Manon's mouth opened slightly and her iron teeth snapped downwards. Manon crouched down slightly and moved just a bit faster. The hunt had truly began.

She was so close. So close that Manon could almost taste the Crochan's blood in her mouth and then Manon raised her claws as the Crochan turned around and the world stopped.

Manon would never forget the look on the Crochan's face, the glorious look of utter terror and fear, the panic and despair in those crystal green eyes as Manon raked her claws down the Crochan's chest. The bitch screamed and Manon laughed, a terrible and wicked sound as she swiped her claws at the Crochan witch's stomach. The contents spilled out and Manon relished in the feeling of warm blood on her hands and the fear in the air. With another move Manon ripped out the Crochan's throat with her teeth like a wild animal, effectively cutting off her scream.

Oh, she had never felt more alive. With a final move, Manon ripped her still-beating heart out of her chest and gazed into those eyes again as the life drained out of the damned Crochan's body. Manon could see herself reflected in the Crochan's eyes, bloody and triumphant and beautiful and wicked. She cradled the warm heart in her hands. Victory was so, so sweet. Her gaze swept back to the Crochan's corpse, still fresh on the ground, her blood-red cloak now drenched in real blood. Swift as steel Manon pulled the cloak away from the Crochan's body, running her fingers through the fabric. How ironic. A cloak presented after her first bleeding, now taken away after her last. No longer would this cloak symbolize fertility and life. In the hands of Manon Blackbeak, heir to the Blackbeak Witch clan, the fiercest Ironteeth clan of all, this cloak would come to symbolized death and the purging of those cursed Crochans. And Manon would hunt those witches down until the Darkness became her and then she would rise again to end the Crochan race. She swore it.

* * *

 _Silent Harmony_

Asterin followed the human male deeper into the woods. She could hear his nervous breathing and sense his discomfort. Not that she'd blame him. They both knew what she was and what she could do to him. But he had saved her life, even when he knew he probably shouldn't have. The birds twittered in the trees above, their wing beats fluttering like drums. Asterin focused on the sound of nature, let it's ringing fill her ears, as if it could block out the silence between them, so imposingly loud.

The human turned around and motioned for her to stop. Asterin watched as he gestured to the ground and began to set traps. For food, Asterin realized. Why not just hunt using bow and arrows? Why set traps? Asterin desperately wanted to say something, to tell him that she could just go out and easily kill dinner for him. But she couldn't find the words. And this wasn't her place to make decisions. So she walked over, bent down, and began to work.

There were no words exchanged between them, but something about it made Asterin feel calm, at peace. Some would argue that fire could not be tempered, but right now she was not that raging wildfire that tore through the skies like a meteor, but the fire that warmed homes and brought light. Manon would say that she was being weak, subjecting herself to emotions and allowing herself to be content while working with a human, but maybe some things were meant to be kept to herself. A small smile crossed Asterin's face and she knew the human was watching her. She turned around and met his gaze. They stared at each other for a moment before returning to their own work. There was no tension or awkwardness, but something else entirely. Something twenty-eight years of being a Blackbeak witch never taught her. Asterin felt a flutter in her chest, and was filled with the overwhelming sense of harmony.

* * *

 _Faultless_

Sorrel's expression was one of steel. Anger coursed through her veins, anger and fear, but she smoothed her features into one void of emotion. Vesta grabbed blankets and began to heat some water.

"Why are you doing this?" Asterin choked out, voice heavy with emotion. "Just leave me or Mother Blackbeak will-"

"It doesn't matter what she will do," Vesta hissed. "She won't find out."

"But when she does-"

"You're our sister," Sorrel said sharply as she paced around the cabin. "We don't leave our sister to die. You didn't deserve what she did, and what happened wasn't your fault."

"You don't understand," Asterin said miserably. "I've failed the clan. I've failed the Matron. I've failed Manon."

"No, you haven't," Sorrel replied fiercely. "We keep this to ourselves. No one will know about this."

"But what if Mother Blackbeak's told her already? Told her about my pathetic failure and my worthlessness?"

"Then we do what we have always done," Vesta says with certainty. She looked around the room and met Sorrel's eyes before turning her gaze back to Asterin. "We stick together and stand up for each other. We're loyal to Manon, but we're also loyal to each other. We're the Thirteen, and god help anyone who stands between us."

For a minute, the room was filled with nothing but the crackling of the fire and Asterin's sniffles. Sorrel's chest felt heavy and she swallowed, not sure how to break the silence, not sure what words to use.

"Do you think she will hate me?" Asterin asked softly after a moment, turning her head away from the others and staring at the wall.

Sorrel and Vesta exchanged a look.

"No," Sorrel murmured. "No, I don't think she will." Sorrel looked at Asterin's beautiful golden hair, still wet from the cold snow she had been thrown in earlier and felt a wave of protectiveness overcome her. "I think she'll be proud. Proud to have such a loyal second who wants nothing but the best for her coven and for her clan."

"Yet that same second was the one who bore a stillborn witchling, one who couldn't face the duty of the clan," Asterin muttered bitterly.

"There was nothing you could do about it, Asterin," Vesta said sadly. "It was never your fault. Sometimes, things don't go as planned but there's nothing we can do about it now. I'm sorry."

"I…I just don't know what went wrong," Asterin shakily breathed out after a moment, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Was it something I did? Was I not a good enough mother or, or-"

"You did nothing wrong," Vesta assured, sitting next to where Asterin lay on the bed, wrapped in blankets and grabbed her cold hand. Sorrel stood, sturdy as rock and watched as Vesta consoled the grieving young witch.

"So what do I do now?" Asterin asked quietly.

"For now, you rest," Sorrel responded, voice firm but gentle. "Then you train. Train for witchling, for the clan, for Manon, but most importantly, train for yourself."

Sorrel stepped forward and grasped Asterin's other hand. The three of them looked at each other, a promise made with swallows and gestures.

"We'll get through this," Sorrel said. "Together."

* * *

 _Legacy_

The Thirteen stood together with their mounts on a cliff near Morath. Manon breathed in the fresh air, the smell of the mountains. It was something she would never tire of.

"What do you suppose we do now?" Asterin asked her, walking over to stand next to Manon, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon.

"I don't know," Manon finally answered. The shadows surveyed the area while Ghislane and Vesta talked quietly among themselves about the structure of the land. For once, Manon felt at peace. A part of her worried slightly about Elide, but Manon smothered that feeling as much as she could. Elide was a Blackbeak witch. She was a fighter. Manon was absolutely certain that Elide didn't need any help.

Manon let out a breath and stared up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to set and stars were barely visible in the sky. The sky was a stark contrast to the fire of the sun. Blue and gold. Just like the Terrasen Queen's eyes.

Manon let out a scoff. She was young and arrogant but Manon couldn't deny it; the Queen was a good fighter. Better than most. Better than her? Over Manon's dead body. It'd been awhile since Manon had really met her match. She was slightly impressed. Their paths would cross again- Manon was sure of it. And when they did, Manon would make sure that she did not suffer another humiliating defeat. A wicked smile graced Manon's face and she turned towards Asterin.

"Prep your mounts," she ordered, marching over to where Abraxos was happily eating flowers. He looked up at her and tilted his head lazily, as if to say 'what do you want now?'.

"Where are we going?" Asterin asked as she mounted her her own wyvren.

"Wherever the wind takes us," Manon responded, her wicked grin growing wider. She turned to the rest of the Thirteen as was met with the same grin. They were the Thirteen, to the end of time and beyond. And Manon loved it.

* * *

I won't lie, this was probably my favourite one to write xD I wrote the first part at 2 in the morning so I was kinda...you know. I actually toned down the goriness of it because I felt it was a little OOC. The original included more gutting and slashing, but uh...I think I need counselling. It was definitely fun to write and was a great way to vent xD

edit: original title of chapter was Red As Blood, Fire Like Ice, Stone Like Steel but was too long xD

Part 3: Dreams Born From Fire And Ash


	3. Dreams Born From Fire And Ash

Had lots of fun writing this. Hope you enjoy and once again, check out the amazing edits aelinqueen made :D (they're legit so pretty)

* * *

When she was a child, she dreamed. She dreamed about many things; about princes and knights and true love and pretty clothes. She didn't have many friends, there weren't many children in the palace that were allowed to or wanted to play with her, after all. But no matter where she was, Aelin could always find home with her books. Sometimes she could be found curled up in the comfort of her bed reading the night away.

Even when Aedion was out training and Lady Marion was busy, Aelin never really felt alone- after all, she always had her books. She didn't really know how to explain why her books were so important to her; they just were. An escape from reality of a sort. Not that she wasn't happy with her life. She had her mother, father, uncle, her cousin, Lady Marion, and all the other members of her uncle's court. Her court.

Her future was unquestionable. One day, she was to become queen and rule over Terrasen like her uncle did. This was told to her many times by many people, to which she responded with nods but secretly, she didn't want to be queen. In fact, she didn't really know what she wanted to be at all. Aelin knew she liked pretty clothes and delicious pastries and reading books. Everybody looked at her like what they wanted her to become. A powerful queen who ruled over her kingdom justly, aided by her court of noble warriors and men, burned into history with her wildfire. All Aelin really wanted was to go on adventures and find love like in A Court of Roses and Thorns. Maybe she would be able to do all three one day. But for now, Aelin could only dream.

* * *

 _My name is Celaena Sardothien. I am 8 years old. I am the heir and protégé of Arobynn Hamal, the king of assassins. Someday, everyone in Adarlan will know my name. Someday, they will learn to fear me, a nameless shadow that strikes in the depths of the night._

The more that she repeated that phrase in her mind, the more it felt true. Aelin sat on her bed in her new room in the Assassin's Keep. A copy of A Court of Roses and Thorns sat on the bedside table. It was one of her favourite books and she had been reading it once she had gotten settled into the Assassin's Keep. It was a beautiful place, she admitted. And it's whereabouts were quite smartly placed.

 _I guess my wishes really came true_ , she thought bitterly. Maybe it wasn't going to be horrible. She could only pray and pray and pray that she was going to be okay. She was Feyre and she was on a mission. Aelin squeezed her eyes shut and imagined herself sneaking into the king of Adarlan's castle and killing him in his sleep. The image of her parent's bed and the sound of Lady Marion's screams echoed in her mind and Aelin let out a choked sob.

Blood. The copper scent filled her nose.

 _RUN! PLEASE! GO!_

Aelin covered her mouth as tears began to fill her eyes.

 _THEY'RE COMING FOR YOU, PRINCESS. YOU HAVE TO LEAVE._

They were so cold. Why were they so cold?

 _RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN, AND DON'T STOP RUNNING, OKAY?_

Wet. A storm was roaring outside. The bed sheets were wet.

 _THERE'S A BRIDGE, AND AEDION WILL BE WAITING FOR YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE._

Did they die fast? Or did they suffer?

 _YOU'RE OUR ONLY HOPE PRINCESS. PLEASE._

It didn't matter. They all still died. Aelin let out a strangled cry of frustration as tears spilled down her cheeks. It wasn't fair. It was never fair. Aelin always hated her magic, but without it she felt so…empty. Like there was nothing left of her. She tried to summon her flames. Tried so hard to make something happen, to let that horrible feeling take over, to let the pain come back whenever she forcefully shifted.

Nothing happened.

Never had she wanted to feel that pain, that agony as much as she did now. It would mean that the gods were still watching. That they still cared for Terrasen, for the good people of Erelia, for her. But there was nothing left inside of her that cared for what the gods thought. Nothing inside her left but anger and hatred. She would learn to be great. She would be the assassin that everybody hated and feared. Aelin's gaze landed on her copy of A Court of Roses and Thorns. She reached over and grabbed it, sniffling slightly and wiping her cheeks on her sleeve.

Aelin gently ran her fingers over the cover. The worn leather was gentle and reassuring. Her eyes gently scanned the pages and memories filled her mind once again. Memories of reading with Aedion and sneaking snacks into her room at night, only to be found and scolded by her mother. Memories of a better world. Aelin's grip on the book tightened and she found her blood boiling inside of her. Furious rage that she tried to contain filled her veins and in a fit she shot up and chucked the book at the fireplace inside her room, breathing heavily. Aelin watched the pages burn and let the crackling sound calm her down. She shook slightly but forced herself to walk closer to the fireplace.

A death surrounded by flames. She wasn't that princess anymore who dreamed of adventures and love. That girl died once surrounded by her family, died twice in the cold of the winter, died a third time when her fire inside of her was shut out and put away, and died a final time in same fire that once would've been the light and warmth for her people.

She was Celaena Sardothien now. Assassin in training and heir to the Assassin's Guild. One day they would fear her. One day she would rip them all apart.

* * *

The knives in her hand were heavy. Celaena turned the blades over and admired her reflection on the sinister steel. Beautiful, but so, so deadly. As fast as lightning, she jabbed the blade upwards before slicing the air in front of her. Today she was to fight Ben. They had previously worked on different blade techniques, how to stab and where to stab, using the blade efficiently, as well as deflecting with the blade. During the last few sessions Celaena worked on combining the different techniques into lethal combinations and countering the person they were fighting.

Ben entered the room with his own set of blades. They stood in the center of the room blades in front of them, poised in a battle stance, ready to attack.

"Ready?" Ben asked.

"Ready," she responded, inclining her head slightly.

He attacked first, lunging towards her with his blade outstretched. She jerked away, slashing her own blade at him, which clashed against his own. Her moves were slightly sloppier than his and Ben was probably going somewhat easier on her. Celaena ducked as Ben swiped the blade where her head currently was and proceeded to jab him in the chest with her elbow. He slashed, she avoided and returned with some blows of her own.

The fight ended when Ben knocked her legs out from under her and she fell to the ground, panting. Her heart beat so fast and her cheeks were pink with effort. Celaena could vaguely hear Sam snort from across the room, but for once she didn't have the audacity to care. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she had never felt more alive. Celaena pushed herself upwards and balanced the blades in her hands. Her eyes met Ben's and he grinned.

"Not bad," he commented. She grinned back at him.

"Again," she breathed. "Again."

* * *

Aelin's fingers gently traced the books on the bookshelf as she breathed in the scent of bound leather. She smiled slightly her eyes grazed the titles of the books.

Aelin was vaguely aware of Rowan coming to stand next to her, his eyes fixed on her. Aelin's fingers stopped on a old book, one that she hadn't bought. A gift from Arobynn then.

"A Court of Roses and Thorns," she murmured, a small smile gracing her features. She turned over to Rowan, who was still as a statue. She showed him the book and flipped through the pages. "This used to be my favourite book as a child. A girl is taken to a werewolf's court when she slays his wolf friend and exchanges his pelt for food in order to save her family. She has to complete these horrible trials in exchange for her freedom and ends up finding love with a hot vampire prince and takes her life back into her own hands. She destroys those who try to chain her down and lets nothing get into her way."

Aelin turned to Rowan, a little smirk on her face. "Sound like anyone you know?"

"Lysandra?" Rowan asked dryly, earning a glare from Aelin. "But for what it's worth, it's nice to know that you think of me as a 'hot vampire prince'," Rowan remarks with a big smirk.

Aelin almost choked when she heard him say that. "Excuse me?" She said, annoyed. "I don't know about you, but I-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know," Rowan interrupted, smiling at her offense. "All you."

Aelin smiled and patted his arm teasingly. "And you," she admitted. "Thanks."

"I know," was all he said. It was all he needed to.

* * *

She wasn't a child anymore, but that didn't mean that she had stopped dreaming. Rather, she dreamed differently. Dreamed for the people who she had loved and the people she still loved. Dreamed for the future and for a better world.

Be strong for the people who can't. Speak up for those who are silenced.

The world was open to them. It seemed to be calling out to her, beckoning her home. come on, the wild seemed to say. It was as if the forest had reached its arms out and welcomed her into its embrace. Come on.

Aelin traced her fingers along the edge of a leaf as gently as she could and looked forwards, to her court. They were waiting for her, all smiling as they watched her admire the forests of Terrasen. People who loved and suffered but yet still wished and dreamed for the brighter future.

"Let's go," she whispered. And so they headed forward, towards their dreams, and for Aelin felt complete.

* * *

That's the last part :( Hope you enjoyed!

PSA: DO NOT LET YOUR 8 YEAR OLD CHILD READ ACOTAR

and also I just realized A Court of Roses and Thorns abbreviated is ACORAT xD


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